


Fallout: New Vegas 'Sample'

by ilvermornystudent129



Category: Fallout - Fandom, Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Johnny Cash - Freeform, M/M, Minor Injuries, Music, Playlist, YouTube
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-09
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2019-01-31 05:02:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12674952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilvermornystudent129/pseuds/ilvermornystudent129
Summary: Some scenes that deal with Courier Six's emotions and relationships. I want to point out that I headcanon my Courier Six to also be the Lone Wanderer from Fallout 3.(This is just a little bit of practice and a good way to show what'll be coming up in my future fics. I hope you enjoy it!)





	Fallout: New Vegas 'Sample'

Doc Mitchell’s blue suit fit almost too perfectly. The feeling of the rough fabric on your skin brought you back to a time and place you couldn’t remember. Bright lights, flashes, and too much noise. The number was the only thing unfamiliar. 21.

“This is all I can spare, son. I hope it’ll do.”

The doctor pushed a small, torn knapsack into your hands. He gave a small, sad smile.

“Thanks, doc. It’s more than most would give.”

Stepping out onto his front porch was like seeing the sun for the first time. You couldn’t remember it before now. Your mind wouldn’t move past the edges of the Mojave, dry and red and scorching like radscorpion stings across your flesh; is this really all you’ve ever known?

You felt the bandages along your forehead, tender skin still aching beneath. Memories lost with a single gunshot. You wouldn’t have been roaming around the Mojave desert if they were memories you had wanted to keep, you suppose. You just wish you remembered your name.  
You became Courier Six instead.

You began to remember someone else, someone you knew in your old life. His name was Butch, and Butch was the only person that had kept you grounded back then. He had the naive nature of a vault-dweller, the fake appetite of a raider or mercenary that had never really experienced the Capital Wasteland but had always envisioned it in their dreams - their only form of freedom being the expanse they could travel and the people they could kill. You suppose you weren’t much different then, but he kept you sane while you kept him at bay. Drinking heavily into the night, ending up in bed together with a thousand drunken kisses you both ignored the following day, a day that you had hoped to never see. It was cold when you finally parted ways.

You were great at picking fights, great at enduring the heavy-handed blows that landed on your face, but you were not so great at finishing them. That was Boone’s specialty, his luck - his skill. He was a soldier. You were a vault-dweller that posed as some Mojave miracle. You remembered Butch as you were knocked to the ground; Boone pulled you back onto your feet after slugging your offender in the jaw. It was Boone who gave you a new foundation to build on top of your forgotten memories. It was made of cracked sand and stone that had been eroded by sudden hot winds almost two-hundred-years ago.

But it was Arcade who helped patch you up. Pulling needles through fresh, bleeding skin on the bridge of your nose; bandaging your hands, whose blisters had opened and swollen with pain; stabbing a stimpak into your arm after being torn by a Legion mutt. Stitching memories together, bringing them back through the cracks of Boone’s rocky foundation, blooming like flowers that had retaken a bombed city. His eyes were the lights you saw in the horizon. Not like the pairs you had seen before. Not like any you’ll ever see again.

Those lights are New Vegas.


End file.
